


The ABC's of Coco

by toons_rule



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: ABC stories, All members of the Rivera Family mentioned, Animal Death, Basically I'm using Google Translate, Collection of one-shots, Death, F/M, I apologize for my terrible translations if they're bad., It's not even my second, Mentions of harming animals, Mentions of harming others, More tags will come, Spanish is not my first language, Swearing, There shouldn't be anything to harmful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-05-05 18:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toons_rule/pseuds/toons_rule
Summary: Collections of one-shots set before/during/after the events of 2017 movie 'Coco'. Fun exercise for me, please enjoy!





	1. Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> Acceptance:  
> 1\. the action of consenting to receive or undertake something offered.  
> 2\. the action or process of being received as adequate or suitable, typically to be admitted into a group.

It was an awkward transition from banning music to allowing it back into the Riveras’ life. It was hard enough to try an keep it out of the household. From drunken passerbys to the limited television shows they watched, it seemed as if the world was attempting to draw the family into the enticing sounds. But it was a situation that they had a system to. One that worked well for the family.

 

So when the music ban had been lifted, it took awhile for some of the family members to transition easily.

 

Coco and Miguel took to it naturally. In her weakened state, Coco relied on her great-grandson to bring music to her. Which he was more than happy to do. He would come into her room and play for her a song he’d heard from the plaza. Or would play a section from a song he was working on. Without fail, Miguel would play the lullaby for Coco each night, just as her papá would. She, in turn, would share stories about her papá before her left that Miguel would tell the family.

 

For Elena, it took great restraint to not pull off her shoe and to brandish it threateningly when she heard a tune. It was a chilling day when she entered the plaza with Miguel and Rosa following. The bands had fallen quiet. A fearful watch was kept on her as she passed by, flinching when she eyed them with a brow raised.

 

“Well? Play! It’s your job to play, no?” She huffed and nodded when the song started up again. People were still tense after this to even hum around Elena. It was about three months after this that people outside the family felt comfortable playing around her.

 

Luisa and Enrique where proud of their son. And more than a little shocked that they were forgiven so easily after their argument. Whatever happened to him that night of _Dio de las Muertos_ had changed him in some way. He’d found a way to practice, listen to the music in the plaza, make shoes with his family, and help with making dinner each night. He balanced his passion and showed love to his family. Miguel was only twelve, but he was showing more maturity than most adults Luisa and Enrique knew.

 

The school was shocked when Rosa asked to join the band. She was known throughout the school as ‘Elena Jr.’. Announcing her distaste for music as loudly as she could when she entered that building. From planning the perfect path to avoid the music rooms to denying friendships to those who played music. Rosa didn’t hate people who played, but she made it very clear that anything music related around her would not be tolerated.

 

So when she entered the band room with a look of both determination and some slight fear, it was surprising to say the least.

 

“Is...there something I can help you with Rosa?” The instructor asked, a smile on her face.

 

“Sorry for interrupting _profesor_ , but I was wondering if I could join?” Rosa asked, her voice carrying a large about of uncertainty. “I’ve already talked with my counselor and we’ve found a way to fit the class in. I just need your written permission that I can join.”

 

“ _Todos, descanso_.” The teacher called out, her students dissolving into private conversations. She placed her baton down before facing Rosa again. “What kind of instrument are you interested in playing?”

 

“Um….” Rosa’s eyes traveled over the room, eyes lingering on the flute, than the drums, than the trumpets. “I’m...not really sure.”

 

“Well, how about you pull up a chair and listen why we play. Maybe an instrument will call to you once you hear it.”

 

Indeed one did. It was a gentle humming over the rest of the music. Fingers dance on the strings while the other hand held a bow that pulled each note from it gently. Rosa was thrilled when she carried home a school violin. Sure, it was well worn, but it was hers until she could buy her own. Miguel was more than happy to help her tune and teach her about fingering techniques.

 

Abel was a different but simple story. He arrived home one day carrying an accordion case with a wide beam on his face. Miguel was close behind, telling the family how they had listened to a band where one of the members played said instrument. Abel was taken and asked (demanded) that the musician train him.

 

“And he said yes?” Carmen asked.

 

“Well, he said if Abel bought his own instrument, than he would teach him.” Miguel said with a shrug.

 

“Wait- he bought that!?” The Riveras boy couldn’t help but laugh watching his aunt run after Abel.

 

Miguel was the biggest contributor of music being heard in the workshop and the Riveras household. He was seen with a guitar in the workshop when he didn’t need to work on shoes. A stood sat in the corner for him so when he played, he was easily heard and seen. Miguel would play for the twins while they twirled, ran, and danced in the courtyard. A familiar lullaby would be heard coming from Coco’s room each night, Miguel sounding happier than the first time he played it for her.

 

When Coco passed away, Miguel was found playing the song in the ofrenda room. Sitting on the worn stone floor, he’d make sure the photo showing Imelda, Coco, and the newly discovered family member Héctor faced him. His voice was both calming and filled with pain.

 

“I know she’s in a better place. She’s with her mamá and papá…. But I miss her.” That was his answer whenever a family member asked if he was alright. It wasn’t exactly wrong.

 

Miguel was happy to know that his Mamá Coco was finally free of pain and he did miss her. Singing to her every night, listening to her stories about growing up. But there was another fear that he couldn’t share with anyone else. That was the fear of not knowing if Papá Héctor actually survived.

 

Héctor was barely clinging to (after)life when Miguel was sent home. He wasn’t sure if he was fast enough to help Coco remember her father. But Miguel had no idea how he would get his answer. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to see spirits the next _Dio de las Muertos_ since he was no longer cursed. Meaning he wouldn’t know if Héctor was still around or not until Miguel reached the end of his life. Which the boy hoped wasn’t going to be that soon.

 

When the day arrived, Miguel was only slightly hurt when he didn’t see any walking skeletons. He knew to expect it, but he had held onto a sliver of hope that he would have been able to see Héctor one more time. When the final day of celebrations started, Miguel couldn’t focus on the sadness he felt. To busy performing his songs and family favorites, eating what he could, and playing with his cousins. Miguel was more than ready for bed once the festivities died down.

 

Miguel was fast asleep when the town clock struck midnight. The adults were still up, drinking to the past families memory. To busy sharing stories to notice the door leading to the young musician’s room twitch open a little more. Jerking out of his sleep feeling something gently placed on his cheek, Miguel blinked the sleep away. He thought he was still dreaming seeing the faint image of his great-great-grandfather standing before him.

 

“P-Papá Héctor?”

 

“Hey _mijo_ , I didn’t mean to wake you.” Héctor replied with a sheepish smile. His bones still looked worn but had started changing from yellow to a pristine white. The torn garments that could have hardly been called ‘clothes’ were now replaced with freshly tailored ones. The wig, while still wild and untamed, seemed to hold less knots with a shine of cleanliness to it.

 

“Are you...actually here?” Miguel asked. He was slightly angry with himself that he didn’t have enough energy to even sit up. But he was just so tired….

 

“Yeah, I’m actually here. Coco told me what you did, that you sang her song for her.”

 

“Mamá Coco...you finally got to see her.”

 

“All thanks to you _mijo_. There aren’t enough words to tell you how much that means to me.”

 

“How’s the rest of the family?”

 

“Imelda has allowed me back in, she’s still as strong as I remember her. We’re slowly getting back into a normal relation. The twins are making up for lost times in being the annoying siblings who want to make sure I’m good enough for their sister. Feel they’re a little late for that. But if it makes them happy, who am I to complain.”

 

Miguel giggled, nestling down into his bed again, listening as Héctor talked about his family. He talked about how between him and Julio, the family couldn’t tell who more tense to be around Imilda. Rosita was always warm, more than happy to make Héctor’s favorite meal to make up for all the years he’d missed out. Victoria was the hardest person to really connect with. She always seemed to be judging every action that Héctor did.

 

“I suppose it’s only fair after what I’d done. She’s probably making sure I don’t go running off again.”

 

“You wouldn’t do that. Not after what we all went through to get you back.” Miguel replied, upset that his aunt would assume such a thing.

 

“Ah, let her be paranoid. I’m surprised Imelda is being so open with me being with everyone.” Hector paused when the clock chimes to announce another hour. “I should let you sleep.”

 

“No….”

 

“Hush _mijo_ , you’ve been awake for way to long.” Héctor couldn’t help but laugh at the pout now on Miguel’s face. “Now, none of that. You have nothing to pout about. You can play music now, you know I’m still here-”

 

“Still don’t want to sleep. I’m not even tired.”

 

“Sure you’re not.”

 

“I’m not….” Miguel couldn't hold back the wide yawn that escaped him, eyes closing afterwards. “Not tired….”

 

Héctor didn’t reply, only pulled up the blanket to Miguel’s chin. The child didn’t respond, his breathing already starting to slow. Running fingers through the younger’s hair, Héctor started singing a familiar lullaby, watching as Miguel relaxed further into his bed. He was asleep before the skeleton finished. Héctor made sure the child was tucked in properly before placing kiss on Miguel’s forehead.

 

“ _Duerme bien mijo. Te veré el próximo año_.” Héctor whispered before leaving the room.

 

When Miguel woke up, he was sad that he couldn’t find Héctor. But he took some solace in knowing that his great-great-grandfather was still alive and now with Coco. At that moment, Miguel knew that was enough.


	2. Blatant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collections of one-shots set before/during/after the events of 2017 movie 'Coco'. Fun exercise for me, please enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blatant:  
> (of bad behavior) done openly and unashamedly.  
> completely lacking in subtlety; very obvious.

She knew what most people thought of artists. That they were all full of themselves, always had their heads in the clouds. To busy lost in their own fantasies to pay attention to the world around them. But a good artist knew how to balance the dream in their head and to take in the reality around them. It was a special talent only a few artists had. Some were to caught up in their head. Some to focused on the detail of life. 

 

It took patient and some failures to find the right balance.

 

Frida found it early on in her adult life. She was fully aware of what the critics said about her, about her work. She didn’t care. They could said what they wanted while she created her newest piece. She would easily ignore them. But that didn’t translate into her unknowing what was being said. It was thrilling when she would reply calmly to a snorty remark and watch the sneer drop from their face. They thought they were better than her for making their opinion known. She was more than happy to prove them wrong. 

 

Parlor tricks aside, her observation of the world proved useful for other things. That is, those who are actually artists and those who pretend. Now don’t get her wrong. She’s more than willing to be a guide to those to want to dip their toe into the creative field. Even to those naysayers should get a chance to see what it’s like to have something born from their fingertips. She also loved those who were very passionate about something but just starting out. Real talent can only get you so far. Practise is everything when you’re an artist. 

 

People are shocked to learn that she’ll still warm up before starting on her main project. It made her laugh. They all just assumed that Frida could just move her arm and art was just created. No. It took time and dedication. 

 

That is why Ernesto de la Cruz made her angry. 

 

Everyone else might have fallen for his deep voice and strong chin. But Frida knew a mask when she saw one. And Ernesto was all plastic. He could carry himself like an artist. It was clear he could portray himself in any position he wants to be. If the multiple movies where anything to go off of. That didn’t prove him to be an artist, just proved he could play the part of one. 

 

There was no passion in what he sang, how he performed. It was as if he was just singing with old friends at a party. Just saying the words to a tune he knew and not telling a story though the song. Everyone else believed he was the greatest singer, songwriter, and movie star that ever lived. The first time she heard his song, the first thing she asked was why he sounded so flat. So lifeless. You would have thought Frida had killed a child of the shopkeeper’s with the way he looked at her. 

 

She could tell. She could just tell by his singing that Ernesto was nothing more than an act. A way to get attention while not putting forth the effort. Everyone praised the ground he walked on. 

 

If Frida could spit on the ground she could. 

 

Yet with all her spit and fire, Frida had no proof that Ernesto did not write the songs. No substantial proof that is. She was present when another skeleton named Héctor confronted Ernesto about the songs, the former shouting about them being stolen from the idol. While it was interesting to watch, it still proved nothing of Ernesto’s possible plagiarism. It was slightly crushing to see the skeleton be shunned by those in the artistic world. There was nothing Frida could do. Especially when Héctor seemed to repeal the idea of ever performing again. 

 

That was a shame. She wish she could have seen him perform, see if he had the passion that Ernesto lacked. Maybe that would prove that he was the rightful owner of the songs everyone seemed to love. But she would not force someone to play if there were unwilling to even look at a guitar. 

 

Another  _ Dio de las Muertos _ had arrived and Frida was at the arts center working on her opening number. Every year she had been commissioned by Ernesto to give an amazing opener for his Sunrise Spectacular. She had a hunch that he did this to try and get on her good side. As if she was a special guest to his parade, she would start liking him more. It made Frida laugh in disgust at how desperate he was for everyone’s attention. 

 

“No, no, no, that’s all wrong!” Frida shouted, her performers pausing at their placed on the cactus. “It’s not you my dancers, you’re lovely as always. But there’s something missing…. Something big! Something influential. Something shocking….”

 

She huffed as she turned to walk towards her paintings. “ _ Tomar un descanso _ . We will continue when inspiration hits me.” 

 

Positioning herself in front of the canvas, Frida allowed herself some time to pause and reflect. Something about this  _ Dio de las Muertos _ celebration seemed off this year. Tense. Like the string on a violin was close to snapping yet the musician keeps tightening it. But where that feeling was coming from, Frida just wasn’t sure.

 

So deep in thought that Frida paid no attention to when her  _ alebrije _ landed on her shoulder. She was only snapped from her thoughts hearing a child cry out. Turning, she found a boy desperately keeping a Xolo dog from jumping up. No doubt the hairless dog was trying to get at the monkey on her shoulder. 

 

“You! How did you get in here!” Frida asked. The child jumped, arms still wrapped around the dog’s neck. Her eyes quickly traveled over him, taking in the rather chubby cheeks on his face. While the paint covering his face was an...admiral attempt to hide he was human, no skeleton looked like that. His face was to full. 

 

But if he was hiding himself for a reason, so be it. He was on an adventure to find himself. Frida was sure of it. 

 

“I-I didn’t mean….” The child swallowed, “I was just following my dog….” 

 

Now her attention was turned to the hairless dog, it’s longer than normal tongue lolling out of its mouth. Another creature that was hiding what it truly was. Frida could just make out the barest hint of shifting neon colors hidden beneath the brown facade. But it was no question that this dog was, or was going to become, an  _ alebrije _ .

 

“Oh, the mighty Xolo dog!” Frida beamed as she examined the hairless dog, “Guider of wandering spirits. And who’s spirit have you guided to me?”

 

“I..don’t think he’s a spirit guide.” The boy replied weakly. 

 

“Ah, ah, the  _ alebrije’s _ of this world can take on many forms. They are mysterious as they are powerful.” Frida was pleased seeing the look of amazement on the child’s face. Having skeleton’s react to seeing an  _ alebrije _ for the first time was always interesting. But a human, more importantly a human child, seeing one was something different. Skeletons were able so quickly understand the idea of magic and its existence. Humans were surprised. 

 

Having a new audience was something Frida loved. Not only having someone view her work in action for the first time. But to have someone’s opinion. Fresh eyes always help to find flaws and Frida wanted to make sure this performance had the impact that she wanted. She was pleased to see the child’s eyes wide with amazement and asked the question she was most worried about. 

 

“Is it to obvious?” 

 

“I….” The child cleared his throat, “I think it’s just the right about of obvious. It could use some music.”

 

Frida smiled as the boy offered his advice, loving the fire he had. Fire. Oh, now that was an idea. “And, what if everything was on fire! Yes! Fire everywhere! Inspired…. You have the heart of an artist.” 

 

Frida didn’t miss the look of  shock from the child as she turned to face the stage. She huffed as the false Ernesto rose, muttering off the rest of the night’s events before interrupted by the child asking where the actor was. He seemed devastated by hearing Ernesto wasn’t at the rehearsal space and was across town. Why the human child wanted to find the lier, Frida didn’t know. But getting him there apparently wasn’t going to fall to her when an older skeleton came stumbling in, collecting the human. 

 

She didn’t see them leave, already back to getting finishing up the set for her piece. Soon orders were called out to move the props to the performance stage. Frida, traveling in a private tram, was thinking about the human. He seemed to have just disappeared after being told where Ernesto was. No one in the rehearsal space had seen where he’d went, both he and the older skeleton leaving without a word. Why was it so important to see Ernesto….

 

She got her answer arriving to the event building. The child, named Miguel, was waiting for her with his dead family and the skeleton from before. Who also turned out to be his family. His great-great-grandfather to be more specific. Miguel launched into his story as to why he was here and how he thought that Ernesto was his great-great-grandfather. How he was going to get the actor’s blessing so he could go home to keep being a singer since his family had banned music. But he found out that Héctor was the true songwriter, was murdered by Ernesto for those songs, and that he and Miguel were actually related. 

 

“A-And we need your help because Ernesto has a picture of Héctor that we need to get back! But we need to get backstage before he performs. Can you help us, please? I know this sounds like a crazy story but-”

 

“ _ Niño _ , calm yourself, I believe you.” Frida smiled when Miguel stumbled to a stop.

 

“R-Really?” 

 

“Of course. It’s sort of refreshing to hear that I was right about Ernesto. But, you don’t need to hear my theories since you already know the truth. We need to get you backstage to confront your villain. Come! I know how to get you back there.” 

 

Some of the family members were less that thrilled when they were presented with the pseudo-Frida costumes. 

 

“Don’t worry,” Héctor smiled, “They’re actually really comfortable.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pardon me in my attempts of using Google Translate for any Spanish spoken by the characters.


	3. Cost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collections of one-shots set before/during/after the events of 2017 movie 'Coco'. Fun exercise for me, please enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cost:   
> 1: An amount that has to be paid or spent to buy or obtain something.  
> 2: To require effort, suffering, or loss.   
> 3: To cause to pay, suffer, or lose something.
> 
> (AN at the end of the chapter.)

It was supposed to help. That’s how Ernesto had sold it to him. Go out, sing, make a name for themselves, become famous and money would just come flooding in. A great way to provide for his family. 

 

“You want the best for your little Coco,  _ si _ ?” Ernesto posed to Héctor, “Best home, best education, everything she could ever want. And you could treat Imelda like the queen you praise her to be! This will be best for everyone. You continue to play, as you want, and you provide for your family.” 

 

It was a solid plan. He had songs they could play, they perform well together, it all seemed to fall into place. Passerbys even seem to have given good word about their skills. Booking places had been easy when people already knew what you could do. There were no reason why Héctor shouldn’t go.

 

Well, actually, there were two. 

 

“Imilda, I’m not abandoning you-” 

 

“You’re leaving this family to pursue something that you have no idea if it will work!” 

 

“I’m leaving so I can provide for this family.” Héctor swallowed when Imelda let out a deep sigh. 

 

“Provide for your family here. Work at the store, you’ll be paid well and you stay here.” 

 

“You know I don’t do well in small buildings...or in buildings in general.  _ Mi amor _ , I was meant to play, meant to perform.” 

 

Imelda laughed softly, looking up with a raised brow. “Are you going back to your argument of you ‘can only play’?” 

 

“Why deny what’s true?” Héctor smiled, wrapping his arms around his wife. “What if we make a deal?” 

 

“...I’m listening.” 

 

“We have 6 month of performances planned. Give me that long to see where this goes. If, in that time, I feel as if we’re not making progress, I’ll come home.”

 

“...No matter what Ernesto says?’ 

 

“No matter what.” 

 

“You write home as many times as you can.” 

 

“Of course! I want you and Coco to share this adventure with me as much as possible.” Héctor beamed as he lifted Imelda up, twirling her around. The joyous sound brought out their daughter, who joined in the merriment. 

 

Only a week later and their bags were packed. Héctor peppered as many kisses as he could over Imelda’s and Coco’s faces before boarding the train. He pressed as close as he could to the window as the train pulled away from the station. Even after he could no longer see them, Héctor kept his forehead against the cool glass. 

 

“Don’t worry my friend.” Ernesto laughed, pulling Héctor away from the window. “You’re going to be so busy. You’ll be back soon with your pockets lined with money.” 

 

“...I’m trusting you with my life.” 

 

“Have faith, all will work out well.” 

 

All was well at first. They performed in front of large crowds. Each show seemed to grow in numbers, which brought in a good amount of money. Héctor wrote as much as he could to his family. He wrote about what he saw, each performance, the people he’d met, even notes of new songs he was working on. Each envelope held as much money Héctor could part with, without becoming penniless. 

 

But as time went on, Héctor began feeling sick. He missed his home, his fiery Imelda, his dear little Coco. After a rather miserable performance, one where Héctor just couldn’t focus on playing, he’d decided that he’d had enough. Playing for strangers just wasn’t the same when his family wasn’t there with him. Either supporting or being alongside with him. 

 

Ernesto was not happy about this announcement. 

 

“You’re just going to leave? After all we’ve done, all we’ve worked for to gain this dream!” 

 

But this wasn’t what Héctor wanted. This whole thing, becoming famous, getting fans, this was what Ernesto wanted. Héctor just wanted to be with his family. It was just sad he had to leave that family in order to fully understand what he had. 

 

It was even worse when he found he couldn’t return to that family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. I was shocked at how long it took to write this! I went through a few different variations before I settled on this.


	4. Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collections of one-shots set before/during/after the events of 2017 movie 'Coco'. Fun exercise for me, please enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Denial:  
> (Noun) The action of declaring something to be untrue.  
> The refusal of something requested or desired.
> 
> (Warning: There's heavy swearing and animal death in this chapter.)

It was easy really. To continually tell yourself that you’re not to blame for your actions. If you do it long enough, it’s almost like a second nature. False answers will arrive in a blink of an eye and spill out of the mouth even faster.

 

No, five-year-old Ernesto had no idea where the family cat had gotten to. He certainly hadn’t hurt it with Papa’s hunting knife and silenced it just so he wouldn’t get in trouble. He certainly hadn’t dug a shallow hole in the ground to hide the unmoving body to cover up what he had done. Clearly, the cat was just exploring. As all feline do when they’re bored. It was...just missing.

 

No, twelve-year-old Ernesto hadn’t seen what had attacked the horse. He certainly hadn’t taken his aggression out on the beast that had decided to buck him off again. He wasn’t angry, the stupid animal didn’t know any better. If anything it deserved to be hurt. Maybe it would now learn it’s place. It was...being taught a lesson.

 

No, sixteen-year-old Ernesto hadn’t laid a hand on those boys. He certainly hadn’t beaten them within an inch of their lives for teasing Héctor about his songs. He most definitely did not threaten the deaths of their family before he hunted them down if they hurt his friend again. They had to learn their place. No one harmed Ernesto’s property. They were...facing the realities of life.

 

No, nineteen-year-old Ernesto didn’t hate the bitch that stole his friend’s attention away from him. He certainly didn’t have fantasies about watching the life drain from her eyes. He wasn’t upset that Héctor’s attention was on something other that the songs that made Ernesto popular. He creates better songs when he thinks about her, but the fire in Ernesto’s stomach wasn’t doused by this. It burned brighter. Héctor should be making songs for Ernesto to sing. Not for her to appreciate. But he know that if he got rid of the problem, Héctor would be no use to him. It was a catch 22 that made Ernesto angry. She was...an necessary annoyance.

 

No, twenty three-year-old Ernesto was not disgusted by the bastard child. He certainly didn’t wish to crush it’s skull beneath his foot just to finally shut it up. Héctor was already pulled in two different directions, between Ernesto and that bitch. Now that the creature was here Héctor had less attention for his childhood friend and writing songs. This wasn’t fair. Héctor was  _ his _ . He noticed the shriveled form of the child before anyone else did. Found the child’s special talent for playing and songwriting.. Fed the need for new songs with praise that the child ate up as actual care. Ernesto didn’t care. He just wanted the songs. He was nothing without those.

 

They were keeping him away from writing songs. Songs for Ernesto to sing and use for his advantage. These songs would be useless if Ernesto didn’t sing them. He had the voice, the face, the body to sell all of it. Ernesto needed the songs just as the songs needed Ernesto. They wouldn’t amount to anything if Héctor sang them. The feeble chin, gullible worm wouldn’t be able to sell them. Ernesto could. But he needed the songs to sell himself. It was the perfect plan, the perfect duo to take the world by storm. 

 

Until those two took over Héctor’s life, his attention. Made a lullaby, for that creature, not for Ernesto. Not for him. He was furious. They were...a problem that couldn’t been gotten rid of.

 

No, Ernesto de la Cruz did not just murder his...friend. Yes, Héctor was still his friend, he would like to think so. But maybe not so much anymore. Because friends don’t abandon friends in the middle of achieving their dreams. And that’s what Héctor was going to do. Abandoning Ernesto so he could return home to... _ them _ . Wasn’t even going to give Ernesto the song book. Just pack up and leave. Ernesto needed those songs. He didn’t really need Héctor, just the songs he could create. That book that was filled with the ticket to stardom that Ernesto needed. 

 

They weren’t Héctor’s songs, they were his. He sang them! Sang them more and far better than Héctor every would. That lost soul was good for only one thing and he had served his purpose. If he wasn’t going to give Ernesto his songs, Ernesto wasn’t going to give Héctor his family. Héctor was...nothing more than a tool.

 

No, Ernesto didn’t lie to that woman, or to the police, or any early questions about his missing partner. Hector just left one night and hadn’t heard from him since. That was the truth. Hector just disappeared. There was nothing more complicated to that. Ernesto was abandoned by his supposed friend and he had to carry on. No one asked where his songs came from. The woman never tried to sue him for using them. He could only assume she’d ignore anything to do with Hector when she realized he wasn’t coming back. 

 

If it was anger that was keeping her away, the better for Ernesto. She could have her insides burn with abandonment as his did when Hector choose her. It’s what she deserved for taking Hector for herself. She can wallow in anger while Ernesto rose in triumph. From singer to movie star, Ernesto was beloved by all. That’s all he needed. He didn’t need Hector. Hector abandoned him. He left. Héctor was...Ernesto’s first acting job.

 

No, Ernesto did not just blow off his friend in the Land of the Dead. Even in death Ernesto had fans wherever he went. He was asked to perform, had a wonderful home, nothing had changed from his time in the living to being dead. The one thing that complicated it all was when a skeleton with slightly yellowed bones had come running up to him. Héctor was all smiles, all excitement for seeing his dear friend again. He gave his condolences for Ernesto’s passing. It angered Ernesto that a man who had tried to take everything from him could still be so happy. He tried to take everything away from Ernesto, yet Héctor thought he could greet the singer with a smile. Years of acting allowed him to easily slip out a question of who Hector was before he continued on. If the other was crushed and confused by Ernesto’s dismissal, he deserved it. 

 

It was with sickening pride when he heard of Héctor trying to tell people that Ernesto stole his songs and that no one believed him. He was a forgotten soul who died from a chorizo. Someone to be made fun of, not to be taken seriously. It’s what he deserved. Héctor was...meant to be forgotten.

 

No, Ernesto had not just doomed a child to the Land of the Dead. Meeting Miguel had been an amazing surprise. He had a great-great-grandson! Sure, Ernesto enjoyed his life to the fullest, but he wasn’t expecting a sort of legacy. Not in the way of having offsprings. The child was adorable, could play, could sing, he was a child Ernesto was proud to be associated with. Unlike that...creature from Héctor…. No, this child was perfect. It was also a plus that Ernesto was related to a child, a living child, who had somehow entered the Land of the Dead. Another notch to Ernesto’s belt to prove how much better he was. 

 

Then Héctor showed up. Again. Trying to ruin what was suppose to be a happy moment. Would this skeleton ever learn? The situation became worse when Héctor remembered how he died, the poison, the drink the Ernesto had given him. Ernesto was shocked when he was tackled by his ‘friend’ in a fit of rage. He had no reason to be angry with Ernesto! Héctor should have been apologizing for abandoning their dream so easily. But no, everything comes back to that damn family. 

 

Now Miguel became a liability. He knew. He knew what Ernesto did. If he went back, Ernesto had no way of knowing if the brat would keep his mouth shut. He couldn’t risk it. The brat could run his mouth and ruin everything Ernesto had worked for. He couldn’t allow that. Miguel was...an easy problem to be rid of. 

 

No, Ernesto did not just toss a child off the building. Miguel was not his great-great-grandson. He was Héctor’s. Ernesto should have known that. The brat was just as problematic as Ernesto’s so called ‘friend’. Héctor couldn’t be remembered. He didn’t deserve to be remembered. Miguel wanted Héctor to be remembered. To have his family back. That word was like acid to Ernesto. It was what tried to tear Ernesto down at every turn. But he wasn’t going to fall to it. Never. He didn’t toss a child off. He was getting rid of another problem. Trash. Nothing. Miguel was...trash that needed to be toss.

 

No, Ernesto’s secret had not come out to the world. No, Ernesto did not watch the brat be saved. No, Ernesto was not mocked as he laid being crushed beneath a bell. No, Ernesto did not lose his title to the people who betrayed him. No, Ernesto was still loved. No, everything was still the way it was meant to be.

 

No, no, no, no….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pardon me in my attempts of using Google Translate for any Spanish spoken by the characters.

**Author's Note:**

> Please pardon me in my attempts of using Google Translate for any Spanish spoken by the characters.


End file.
